Free Amnesia Moon by Jonathan Lethem Page A

serve. I call them McDonaldonians because that’s where they live now—McDonaldonia. Just another little pocket of weirdness.”
    â€œHow can the food hold out?”
    â€œAre you kidding? They’ve got whole freezers full of it. Not allowed to touch it themselves, and I’m the only customer. And I hardly ever eat this shit more than two or three times a week. Mostly canned stuff from the supermarket, which reminds me. I’d better remember to bring some cans next time I’m through here, some vegetables or something with some C in it because these cats are looking
bad.”
    â€œFour burgers and two fries and a Big Mac,” said Johanson over the microphone.
    They went up to get their food. Stoney and Junior were still busy catching burgers as they fell off the fry line, building Big Macs, packing them into styrofoam boxes. Chaos looked at Boyd, who raised his hand and smiled. “Tell them about the batches,” he said to Johanson.
    Johanson shrugged. “We, uh, can’t just make four burgers, gotta make a batch. Box it up, put it under the warming lights for ten minutes.” He pointed to the glowing orange bin where the finished burgers were accumulating. “If it don’t sell in ten minutes, we throw the batch away ’cause of, uh, guarantee of freshness.” He wiped his hands on his grease-blackened apron and grinned.
    Boyd raised his eyebrows. They took their trays back to the table and ate. Chaos and Melinda each polished off two burgers easily. “Told you they’re small,” said Boyd. “You want more?” He pulled out some money and tossed it onto the table between them. “Go ahead, just hurry, for God’s sake, catch them before the next batch.”
    Chaos went to the counter and bought another two hamburgers from under the lights. The McDonaldonians seemed pleased.
    After the meal they went back out to the parking lot. Boyd noticed Chaos staring at the two other solar-powered cars in the lot, and said, “Hey! Want a car? Not one of these, man. We’ll find you a new one. Get in.”
    He drove them to a dealership another half-mile down the Strip. The safety glass of the showroom walls had been kicked out of the frames and lay in crumbled sheets across the floor like frozen waves. There were four cars in the building and another ten or so in the lot. “Want a truck like mine?” said Boyd. “Or one of these little grapefruit seeds here?”
    Chaos pointed to the smallest compact in the lot, the one that most resembled the car in his dream. He looked at Melinda, and she nodded.
    â€œFair enough,” said Boyd.
    They climbed in over the glass while Boyd went rummaging in the office compartment. He emerged with a book-sized device made of colored plastic and emblazoned with the insignia of the dealership. Back out in the lot, Boyd switched on the device and had Chaos press his hand to the front of it, which lit briefly. Then he pressed the device to the lock on the driver’s side door. “Go ahead, try it,” said Boyd. Chaos put his hand on the door; it clicked open, and the engine rumbled into life.
    â€œYou mean to hit the road?” said the hippie.
    â€œI thought I’d have a look at California,” said Chaos.
    â€œThat’s cool, that’s cool”—as if it weren’t quite. “Here.” He went to his truck and came back with a handful of maps. “Route 80. It’s a big, ugly road. Good luck. You want my advice, skip Salt Lake City. Fact, skip Utah altogether. Stick to the road.”
    Chaos took the maps. “Thanks.”
    â€œFor that matter, Nevada’s got some military stuff going on. The map is not the territory, man. That’s all I’ll say about it, the map is not the territory. Not anymore.” He squinted up into the sun. “What do you plan to do in California?”
    â€œI don’t know,” said Chaos.
    â€œWell, you